


i can see my future in his leather jacket

by smallredboy



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Angst, M/M, Post-Finale, Reunions, Road Trips, Unresolved Emotional Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-15
Updated: 2019-08-15
Packaged: 2020-09-01 18:25:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20262523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smallredboy/pseuds/smallredboy
Summary: Five months after House's death, Chase gets an email from him.





	i can see my future in his leather jacket

**Author's Note:**

> for 15kisses - wanderlust, 15woes - forgiveness and trope-bingo - reunion.
> 
> title from _i lost my innocence_ by ezra furman which, has some true chase/house vibes, imo.
> 
> thanks to [firstlovelatespring](https://archiveofourown.org/users/firstlovelatespring) for the beta! please check her stuff out!
> 
> enjoy!

When Chase gets the email, he’s sure it must be some sick joke.

But, as he starts to try and get to the point of why someone would do this, it makes less and less sense. Why would someone hack a dead man’s work email? Why would someone hack a dead man’s work email and then send an email to Chase? It doesn’t make sense. But he saw House go up in flames, saw the body, attended the funeral. Although he doesn’t think it’s too out of character for House to fake his death— Hell, he faked a terminal illness multiple times. And death is just the next step after terminal illness.

But that does go to the next thing in his mind— Wilson. It’s been five and a half months. If this is House, then Wilson must be on the brink of death. Is that why House would go out looking for him? As a substitute, as a bad way to cope? Well, if that’s the case, he’ll be sure to indulge it. It’s been ages and he has his own department now, but he still knows how things around House work, even after he’s been dead, even if only in the legal way.

So he goes to the outskirts of Princeton. So he waits like a fool at the train station, waiting for something, someone to show up. He’s about to give up, stand up and leave, knowing he’s been made a fool out of. That there’s someone out there, laughing at him for falling for it, too full of hope not to fall for it.

Until he hears the motorbike roar.

He whips his head around and there they are— both of them. Wilson looks okay; better than he expected. And House…

He loses his breath for a second, stepping closer embarrassingly fast, eyes wide as he searches House for something, anything. Comfort, an apology, anything. He wants to forgive him, to scream at him, to hug him, dig his nails into his shoulders and cry because God, it’s been a terrible five months. No one expected him to grieve House this much (much less himself), but he did. As everyone looked on and almost thanked whatever’s above for getting rid of House, Chase was resisting the urge to go down the same route as his mother.

“House,” he says airily.

House gets off his motorbike, fixes his leather jacket. “Heya, wombat,” he says, his voice rough around the edges, swallowing him up. “Up for a road trip?”

He blinks, turns to Wilson, who is slowly getting off his motorbike. No hair loss, nothing— he looks just like he did five months ago, if memory serves. Wilson waves at him with a small smile, and he returns the gesture before turning back to House.

“Is Wilson okay?”

“I’m a lot better than I expected I’d be by now,” Wilson cuts in, stepping closer. “It’s been a while, Chase. Can I hug you? House sure as hell isn’t gonna do it.”

House looks a bit offended by the notion, a raised brow and a grimace. He ignores it, though, eagerly leaning in to hug Wilson, his arms still strong as they wrap around him, squeezing tight before he pulls away.

“So,” Chase says, looking down at his nails. “A road trip?”

“That’s what we’ve been doing,” House says, fiddling with his cane. “Giving Wilson a good time and all that.”

“It’s still cute,” Wilson tells him, “how you threw everything away for me.” 

Chase draws in a breath. Yeah, that adds up. Of course House would fake his death for Wilson, for Wilson to have a pleasant last six months. That makes sense. But it also means—

“Oh, shut it,” House says, rolling his eyes. “Don’t let it go to your head. If wombat was dying of cancer I might’ve faked my death for him, too.”

Chase can’t help but blush a little.

“Oh, yes,” Wilson replies sarcastically, “ _ you’re  _ the one with the savior complex, now.”

“Well,” Chase says, “I— how am I supposed to get out of work?”

“Foreman knows I’m alive,” House says. “It’ll be fine.”

He nods a little, swallowing thickly. Now that he can see what House has been up to, he wants it, too. The quiet nights, getting into dirty motels, looking at the stars, thinking about House and his eyes digging into his back relentlessly, unforgiving. That sounds nice, a newfound wanderlust eating at him, making him have the need to get a motorbike and ride along with them through the entirety of the States.

“I’ll get that sorted out,” he says. 

The pause seems to last an eternity, but before he can stop himself, the words force themselves out of his mouth— “I missed you, House.”

House looks stumped, dumbfounded, opening his mouth to say something witty before Wilson says, “He missed you too. Let’s go get your stuff.”

He missed you too. The words make him warm from head to toe, make him want to touch and be touched and have some sort of— of something with House. He doesn’t know. Well, he does know, but he can’t think of it. He can’t even begin to.

“Should I- should I get a motorbike?”

Wilson smiles at him, turns to House, who imperceptibly shakes his head as well. “No, you’ll be fine. Just get your stuff and tell Foreman.”

When he’s ready to go, he has a meager backpack and his most comfortable clothes, House settled on his motorbike and Wilson on his own. They both look so comfortable, and sure of themselves, and so happy with each other. They might have not exchanged any heated glances or quick kisses in front of Chase, but he still knows something has changed in the span of those five months. 

And, well, now it feels like he’s intruding into it slowly and surely. But he’s being let in, the intruder alarm turned off. Allowing him in, Wilson guiding him towards House’s arms, House’s lips. He takes it gladly.

“Well,” Chase starts, clearing his throat as he looks at both of them nervously.

Wilson looks at House, raises a brow. He might be seeing things, but he’s almost sure House blushes a little.

He can’t help but think of how terrible these five months have been. But most importantly, he can’t help but think about how easy it is for him to forgive House. To be fair with himself, it always has been far too easy for him to forgive House. Whenever he did something terrible, it only took that dash of guilt in his ice-blue eyes for Chase to cave in. But now he can’t even bring himself to be mad— House threw everything away for Wilson. It’s almost admirable.

Wilson nods at House and House grimaces.

“Fine,” he mutters. “I’ll drive ya, minx. Get on.”

Chase’s stomach drops. He looks at House incredulously, brows raised and mouth agape.

“We don’t have all day,” House says tiredly, patting the back of his seat. “C’mon, mate. Let’s get out of Jersey.”

His face is burning hot with shame, want and guilt alike. But he knows they both know, and that they’re both up for this, for the promises unspoken, for his desire to kiss House madly. He doesn’t think it’ll happen any time soon, but, hey, he never knows. House is unpredictable, even more so now after his legal death. The mere fact he’s there, so close to him, and that he’s alive is unbelieavable.

He slowly settles behind House on his motorbike, trying to grab onto anything but House’s middle.

“I don’t bite, Robert,” House tells him with the same denial Chase feels right in his words.

So he swallows what little pride he has left, wrapping his arms around House’s middle. He’s incredibly warm. Welcoming.

House scoffs a little and Wilson lets out this tiny little laugh, rolling his eyes as he starts his motorbike.

As he holds on tight to House, as they go faster and faster out of state— he knows he can get used to this. To the forthcoming nights at dirty motels, the touch of skin to skin, the stars blinking down at him from the sky.


End file.
